


Christmas Party @ 221B

by TheMuchTooMerryMaiden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Gen, I just can't help myself, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden/pseuds/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, being a festive sort, throws a Christmas Party for one and all at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitations

Mrs Hudson’s response had been delight,

“Oh! A party, I love a good party. You know when I started letting rooms I always dreamed I’d have the sort of tenants where we’d all be like family.” John smiled,

“It’ll be lots of people from work and from the Yard and I’m going to invite Mycroft and Whatshername.”

“Whatshername?” Mrs Hudson enquired,

“Mycroft’s assistant. She gives a different name every time I meet her; I decided Whatshername was easier in the end. Have you met her?”

“Yes, dear. I had a meeting with Sherlock’s brother same as you did I dare say. He’s very protective of his brother isn’t he?”

“Seems like it. Sherlock hates it.”

“That’s probably why he does it.”

“Probably,” John agreed.

 

Most of the invitations were verbal, Lestrade for instance he’d asked when they’d been waiting for Sherlock to do his thing at a crime scene. John hoped he’d also made clear that Lestrade should invite all of his MIT. Lestrade’s response had been surprise,

“What, including Anderson?”

“Yes, everybody.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” There was a pause and then the detective inspector continued, “They’ll probably come you know, just from the novelty value, you’re sure you’re sure?”

“Yes, definitely. It’ll do everyone good to see each other away from a crime scene. You know until I met Sherlock it had never occurred to me that solving crimes was a competitive sport.”

“Should people bring a bottle?”

“Yeah, or something to snack on, whatever, really. Mrs Hudson is going to do some food but anything extra will be gratefully received.” There was a long pause during which both men stamped their feet and shivered waiting for Sherlock to blind them with his deductions. Lestrade broke the silence,

“Why are you doing this?”

“What, I need an excuse apart from Christmas to throw a party?” John asked and for the life in him Lestrade couldn’t decide whether there was any more to it than that.

 

John managed to get Mike Stamford and Molly at the same time, he made a detour on his way home from the Surgery to call into the morgue and it turned out that Mike was already there talking to Molly. Although Sherlock routinely made fun of John's observational skills he could see that he was interrupting and that both Mike and Molly looked conisderably happier than usual. That said, however, he didn't want to make assumptions,

"So," he said, "I, sorry we, are throwing a Christmas Party at Baker Street on Friday, if either of you are available then you'd be welcome to come anytime eight onwards, bring someone if you want." Molly looked up at Mike and there was a moment of non-verbal communication before Mike spoke,

"We're throwing a party? You and Sherlock?" John coloured a little before replying,

"Well, yes, it might be that he's not aware of the party just yet," John smiled, "there will be loads of people and like I say you'd be welcome." Again there was a moment of silent communication before Molly replied,

"We'd love to," and here she blushed, "and we'll bring each other." Molly smiled a little sheepishly and glanced up at Mike. It was all so sweet that John felt faintly unwell.

"Excellent!" John beamed, "We'll see you both on Friday, then."

 

John tried hard not to notice that Sarah paled visibly when he invited her to the party. He couldn’t really blame her, the last night out with him and Sherlock had been somewhat traumatic; he’d been more than a little surprised that she still employed him at the surgery. Still, he would like her to be there,

“Seriously, you should come if you’ve nothing else going on,” he said again, “I promise no Chinese Circus assassins and no explosions.”

“Are you in a position to promise that?” Sarah asked with a smile.

“Probably,” John replied with a grin, “Sherlock’s brother will be there and I don’t think any Chinese assassins would dare. Anyway we,” here Sarah allowed herself a look of slight disbelief at the pronoun, “would love you to be there. Bring someone if you’d like to.”

 

Harry never needed encouraging to attend a party, John texted her:

> We’re having a Christmas Party Friday 23rd, you’d be welcome to come.  
> Bring someone if you want.

John didn’t particularly expect a reply but he did get one, a rather abrupt one even for Harry:

> I’ve nothing else on,  
> Harry

 

After puzzling for an evening John decided that the best way to contact Mycroft was via the CCTV camera network. So carefully, while Sherlock was out because John didn’t feel like having the argument just now, he wrote

> Christmas Party @ 221B  
> 23rd December 8pm onwards  
> Bring (not)Anthea

And then he quickly nipped downstairs, found the nearest camera and held up the note to it. After less than a minute he heard the ‘new message’ tone from his phone. He checked the message:

> We would be charmed  
> MH

So, John thought, the only thing I need to do now is to tell Sherlock.

 

John thought for a day or two, trying to find the best way to tell Sherlock about the party. In the end he decided that there was no good or bad way and that he should just get it over with. As the two of them watched rubbish television after a Saturday night takeaway he brought the matter up in a hopefully casual seeming way,

“So, I’ve invited a few of our friends round for a party next Friday.”

“You did what?”

“I said, I’ve....”

“I heard you the first time!”

The conversation (if you could call it a conversation, John thought) did not get any better. Sherlock had a million and one reasons why it was a bad idea _before_ John admitted that Anderson would be attending, after that admission the objections multiplied ten-fold. In the end John began to get genuinely annoyed with the younger man and he dropped the subject. Sherlock however didn’t and the conversation kept springing back up every couple of hours for days until John got thoroughly annoyed,

“We are having this party and you will be there, end of conversation.” John’s exasperation with Sherlock was evident, after all Sherlock had been whining and complaining about even the idea for three days now, but John took a deep breath and swallowed before he continued, “you’ll enjoy it,” he noted Sherlock’s dubious expression but continued, “at the very least you can use it as research, something like ‘The Social Mores of Urban Professionals’.”

“I’d hardly call Anderson a professional,” Sherlock mused, but John could see that he’d found the ‘in’ which would allow Sherlock to attend while squaring it with his professed anti-social inclinations. John knew enough not to push Sherlock any further but he was reasonably sure that Sherlock wouldn’t lock himself in his bedroom and sulk his way through Friday night.


	2. Preparations

John started making a list, and although it wasn’t of who’d been naughty or nice he did check it considerably more than twice. At this point it ran:

• Food and Drink  
• Decorations  
• Games  
• Music

Obviously he consulted with Mrs Hudson about the food and just as obviously they discussed it over a cup of tea in 221A.

“What kind of food did you have in mind, dear?” Mrs Hudson asked, head on one side, looking like a curious robin on a bird table,

“Just the standard little bits of easy to eat food, things on sticks...” John’s voice dwindled as he saw the long-suffering, ‘men, can’t live with them, can’t ensure they get executed in Florida’, expression on Mrs Hudson’s kindly face.

“Why don’t you just leave it to me, love?” she asked and John, trying hard not to hear the condescension in her voice, agreed,

“That might be best, if you’re sure you don’t mind,”

“Oh, of course not, don’t get much opportunity to cater these days, I’ll enjoy it. How many are you thinking there will be?” she asked,

“Probably somewhere between ten and twenty,” John hazarded after doing a quick count up on his fingers, “is that too many?”

“No of course not, I should probably cater for a few more I think. I’ll need to use your kitchen as well as mine you know.” John’s face fell slightly, I’ll have to update my list, he thought .

“I’ll sort out the drink then,” John said.

“Don’t forget that some people will be driving will you, don’t want all those people from Scotland Yard having to break off from their party to breathalyse people, do we?”

So now his list went:

• ~~Food and Drink~~  
• Clean the kitchen  
• Decorations  
• Games  
• Music

and John was more than a little worried that the list was getting longer not shorter as time went on.

John knew that there was no point trying to involve Sherlock in the Cleaning of the Kitchen (a phrase which had acquired capital letters and possibly the sort of font that drips with blood) and he also knew for a fact that it would be far easier to clean up without his flatmate around trying to turn everything into an experiment. For once however, Sherlock seemed determined never to leave the flat again; he was constantly either on the sofa in the sitting room or experimenting messily actually **in** the kitchen. In the end John had to resort in subterfuge, he texted Lestrade and asked the detective if he could possibly lure Sherlock from the flat. Lestrade agreed to find Sherlock a cold case and promptly called him. John thought that Sherlock was giving him a funny look and had guessed what was going on but he went anyway.

In the limited time he had John decided the first thing to do was to clear away any body parts which might very well upset Mrs Hudson when she was cooking. John approached the kitchen with his usual trepidation but was surprised to find that it was actually quite hygienic for once. When he braved the freezer he found out why. The note went:

> I assume that Mrs Hudson will need to use our kitchen. I have sealed the drawer in the freezer that should be LEFT ALONE, everything else is safe. You know you could have just asked,
> 
> SH

John looked at the sealed drawer. It was of course sealed with crime scene tape. Lots of crime scene tape. And a neatly lettered, laminated (they owned a laminator?) note:

> Caution, hazardous material, DO NOT OPEN.

The note was also attached with crime scene tape. John had just about stopped laughing when Sherlock returned from New Scotland Yard.

John perused his list:

• ~~Food and Drink~~  
• ~~Clean the kitchen~~  
• Decorations  
• Games  
• Music

and pondered the idea that he should have ‘just asked’ for Sherlock’s help and decided to do just that,

“Sherlock,” he said that evening as Sherlock was updating ‘The Science of Deduction’ using, of course, John’s laptop, “Do you think that you could sort out some decorations for the flat for Friday night?” John was braced for almost any reaction from his flatmate, almost anyone apart from a wide, wide grin and a muttered,

“I thought you’d never ask!”

OK, John thought, that’s the decorations sorted even if it seemed likely that there would be more crime scene tape involved than the usual Christmas party saw.

John himself decided to take care of the music. He finally got hold of his laptop when Sherlock swirled out of the flat, presumably to go and buy decorations, and spent a relatively expensive thirty minutes on iTunes. In the end he settled for a few more obscure Christmas Albums, Johnny Cash, The Wurzels, Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass and a couple of more general compilations. There that should do, he thought and set to putting together playlists for the beginning, middle and end of the evening.

Sherlock roared back into the flat with a purely ridiculous number of carrier bags about three quarters of an hour later. It seemed to John that no flat would ever be so decorated. There was crepe paper, there were paper chains to make, there were fairy lights, there was glitter, phenomenal amounts of glitter, there was, it turned out a Christmas Tree together with enough mistletoe to delight the heart of any druid, carried upstairs by one of the homeless network who trailed behind Sherlock, there were baubles, there was, literally to cap it all an honest to god fairy for the top of the tree. John kept his freak out about how into this Sherlock was getting to himself, while Sherlock spirited away all but the Christmas tree which he stood in the corner of the room and the Mistletoe which took up residence in a bucket in the kitchen.

John contemplated his list:

• ~~Food and Drink~~  
• ~~Clean the kitchen~~  
• ~~Decorations~~  
• Games  
• ~~Music~~

So, only games to deal with. John thought about it for a while before he remembered what Mike had been like while they were in training.

The next morning John headed to Bart’s and went looking for Mike. He found him in the morgue, thankfully however he was only visiting Molly,

“Hello, John,” she beamed at him, “what can we do for you?”

“Actually I was looking for Mike. Mike, do you think you could sort out some party games for Friday night?” Mike and Molly shared a mischievous look.

“Oh, I think we could manage that,” Mike replied with a smile, “Do you have a television?”

“Yes...” John replied puzzled,

“I’ll bring my Wii.” This time John was more than puzzled. Molly took pity on him,

“It’s a computer game console John, lots of fun games!”

“Oh, good...” John was aware that he was sounding like he’d wandered off from the home for the bewildered,

“Don’t worry we’ll have other things as well!”

 _So,_ John thought as he walked back to Baker Street, _that should be everything sorted out, after all what could possibly go wrong?_


	3. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the invites and the planning it's time for the party...

John was woken on the morning of the party by a hammering sound coming from the living room. John had spoken to Sherlock more than once about the advisability or lack thereof of startling him awake and he’d known at the time it was a useless thing to do, but it hadn’t stopped him. Now all he really worried about was the fact that one day the noise that woke him up would be somebody trying to kill Sherlock and he’d sleep through it. Blearily he got out of bed and wandered into the living room to see Sherlock, just in his pyjama bottoms stood on one leg on a chair, leaning precariously to his right and hammering at a drawing pin holding up a paper chain with, of all things, his shoe.

“Morning, Sherlock. Getting a head start with the decorations then?” John said as he went into the kitchen and started making a couple of cups of tea. He was almost expecting the noise of Sherlock falling so that when it happened, accompanied by enough swearing to assure him that Sherlock wasn’t badly injured, he waited until the tea was brewed before he went to check on the damage done to the furniture and his flatmate.

“It’s these bloody high, Victorian ceilings that are the problem you know,” Sherlock said as he examined first his elbow which John thought had probably intersected with the window sill, then the chair which was now really only fit for fire wood and finally directed a narrow-eyed look at the ceiling.

“Not the fact that you couldn’t be arsed to go and get the step ladder then?”

“Well,” Sherlock replied, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

John sighed but quietly, he didn’t want to upset Sherlock when he was making the effort, took a long pull at his brew and thought to himself, it’s going to be a long, long day.

 

John had a shift at the surgery that morning. Unusually Sherlock was very pleased about that which worried John exceedingly. He’d gone and got the step ladders himself in the hope that Sherlock would not kill himself putting up the decorations,

“I’ll be back about half past one, try not to kill yourself putting up the decorations will you?”

“I think I might, just, manage” Sherlock said at his most condescending (and that’s saying something John thought). When John got down to the hall, Mrs Hudson popped her head round the door of her own flat,

“John! What on Earth is Sherlock doing up there?”

“He’s putting up decorations for tonight. Sorry about the noise. I have to say I didn’t expect him to start putting decorations up at seven in the morning, but he seems to be getting rather wound up about the whole thing. It’s like having a five year old around the place.”

“Oh, don’t worry love,” Mrs Hudson replied a slightly manic grin on her face, “I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re working. I can start doing some of the cooking.”

“Thanks,” John said, but as he left he had the feeling that he’d just done the equivalent of hiring a seven year old to baby sit a five year old.

 

When John arrived home he found Molly and Mike and a vast amount of boxes and bags on the doorstep with Mike about to hammer on the door.

“Don’t bother,” John called out and he ducked round them to unlock the door, “I’ll give you a hand with all this ... what is all this?”

“Oh, just a few games,” Molly replied with a grin. John reflected on the fact that happiness suited Molly, he was glad that she’d found Mike, it had taken her a lot of time to get over the fact that ‘Jim from IT’ had been behind the bombing campaign.

It took two trips to get all of Mike and Molly’s paraphernalia up to the flat, which in the words of the song was ‘beginning to look a lot like Christmas’. Well some sort of über-Christmas. Everywhere sparkled, what wasn’t covered in tinsel was covered in glitter and most things had both. Tinsel had been attached like piping to all the cushions and seat cushions in the place and paper chains were everywhere. John looked around for the tree but all he could see was a pile of decorations in the corner, he only realised it was the tree when he spotted the fairy on the top. And the holly, really a lot of holly, John decided that he would make strenuous efforts not to worry where the holly had come from, he knew that Sherlock hadn’t bought it at the same time as the other greenery but that was no reason, no reason at all to think he might have stolen it from a park or garden.

“Good decorations, Sherlock!” Molly exclaimed as Sherlock came out of the kitchen followed by Mrs Hudson. Strangely, Sherlock seemed to have decorated Mrs Hudson as well, she had tinsel plaited into her hair, round her neck like a lei and round her waist like a belt.

“Thank you, Molly,” he replied. John looked up expecting to see Sherlock’s usual condescending smile but instead found that Sherlock was genuinely smiling. It’s a bloody Christmas Miracle was the only thing that John could think.

 

People began to arrive at about half past eight and for a little while the party was in that weird state where not enough people have arrived, and there’s too much room and people stand around being awkward. Molly and Mike were setting up the Wii in the corner with the television and seemed to be having fun, although, John thought they were probably at that point in their relationship where doing the dishes and hovering the stair carpets were fun things to do as long as they did them together. After a little while Sherlock who had been watching with disdain got called over by Molly,

“Sherlock come and make your Mii!

“My what?”

“Your Mii, your little computer player for the games,”

“Why would I do that?”

“So that people will know it’s you, come on!”

John got distracted for a little while by helping Mrs Hudson arranging some of the food. When he tuned the conversation back in he could hear Molly and Sherlock arguing,

“I do not have cross-eyes,” Sherlock was insisting while Mike and Molly were apparently taking turns to move the eyes around the face of the avatar in a way that John found disturbing,

“No? What about these?” Mike asked, this time going for huge, anime eyes with stars in them,

“Oh, well, now you’re just being ridiculous,” and Sherlock snatched the controller out of Mike’s hands and began to methodically change the settings until he was happy with the result, holding the controller up out of the way so that neither Mike nor Molly could take it back. Sherlock’s final choice was a purple colour for the top his Mii was wearing. Mike’s eyes met Molly’s before they both shouted out together,

“The purple shirt of sex!” and collapsed against each other in hysterics. John smiled as he watched Sherlock stalk off, all offended dignity.

 

Lestrade was the next person to arrive, and John was looking straight at him when he first saw the magnificence that was the decorated flat, a kind of shock and awe thing played over his face before he spotted John and came over to him.

“Sherlock?” he asked as he handed john a six pack of beer and gestured at the decorations,

“Yep,” was John’s reply, “does he often get like this ... all ... enthusiastic?”

“Not too often but it’s always a miracle to behold when it happens.” Lestrade replied, “There was this one time when he decided that he needed to understand sport because it was so important to so many people. Never was there such a committed Arsenal fan, he even wore a replica shirt, can you imagine?” John thought for a moment or two,

“Nope, really can’t picture it. What’s that Internet thing, ‘Pics or it didn’t happen’” Lestrade grinned,

“Oh, we got pictures all right; I’ll email you some if you promise to slip one of them onto ‘The Science of Deduction’!”

“It’s a deal!” They were interrupted at that point by Sherlock suddenly sweeping over and kissing Lestrade, and what John thought of as ‘proper’ kissing at that. The sequences of thoughts and emotions that played across Lestrade’s face were obvious to John as he watched dumbfounded: shock, anger, amusement and perhaps even a little bit of appreciation. Sherlock pulled away with a considering expression on his face, his tongue darting out as if to taste his own lips before pointing upwards and announcing,

“Mistletoe!” and then walking over to where Mrs Hudson was laying out food. Lestrade cleared his throat,

“Do you think he knows that it’s not compulsory to kiss someone just because they’re stood under the mistletoe?”

“Honestly?” John replied, “I have no idea.”

 

By quarter to ten the flat was beyond full. Mrs Hudson was in her element apparently conjuring up ridiculous amounts of food as if by magic. John stood leaning on the kitchen door frame watching what was going on trying to make sure that everyone was enjoying themselves.

“Who are you watching?” John jumped at the sudden voice in his ear and then turned to smile at Sherlock before replying,

“Mycroft and Anthea...” Sherlock interrupted,

“I think she’s going by Electra this evening,”

“Well, OK, Mycroft and Electra playing Pictionary. Seriously we should go over and watch, they seem to be winding Sally and Anderson up, should be good for a laugh.

Mycroft was speaking as they got to that corner of the room,

“Your turn to draw, Electra,” Electra picked up the card,

“It’s a Person, Place or Animal,” she stated and picked up the pencil. Very quickly she drew two lines one considerably longer than the other which met at an obtuse angle and followed this up with a sloping curvy shape and it’s mirror image, before the second shape was complete Mycroft said,

“Tiger Woods!” with a grin Electra showed the card to Sally whose expression was one of incredulity.

“How the Hell did you get Tiger Woods from that?” she asked. Mycroft answered,

“Well clearly this is a golf club, the distinctive angle between the shaft and the face of the club and since it was a Person, Place or Animal then the tiger stripes must mean that it was Tiger Woods.

“OK,” Sally said through slightly gritted teeth, my turn to draw and she picked up a card, it’s an action. Sally drew a line across the page and then a sequence of stick figures along that line and then looked up expectantly at Anderson, who clearly had no idea,

“A crowd?”

“Action,” Mycroft said gently, with a slight smile at Anderson, who flushed like he’d been shouted at,

“Err, crowding, rioting,...”

“It’s like the Muybridge photographs, isn’t it?” Electra said quietly to Mycroft,

“Exactly like,” was his reply. Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped a few keys. “Time’s up,” Mycroft said as the sand in the timer ran out, “Was it running?” Mycroft asked though it clearly wasn’t a question, “You were clearly showing a sequence of pictures of one person running,” Mycroft smiled at Anderson before continuing, “they couldn’t have been a walking person because clearly both feet are off the ground in this picture.”

John turned to look at Sherlock who showed him the images on his phone, Muybridge’s sequential pictures of a horse galloping. John murmured,

“Watching Mycroft trounce Anderson must be like watching a wasp land on a nettle for you, one of them’s going to get stung and you don’t really care which!” Sherlock grinned.

 

During the course of the evening it did seem that Sherlock believed that he had to kiss anyone who stood under the mistletoe, John saw him kiss Molly and Mrs Hudson and with great daring Electra, he also grabbed Mike but seemed to contemplate kissing Anderson and then decide against it. Each time his explanation and his reaction were the same, a cry of Mistletoe and a calculating look. John could tell the signs of Sherlock in experiment mode and hoped that his results weren’t going to upset too many people as he was sure that Sherlock would reveal the results to the assembled company.

 

John’s selection of music for the middle of the evening was very popular, and at the far side of the room some impromptu dancing broke out. Molly and Mike were swaying together for one of the slower numbers and then when the next track was The Wurzel’s version of ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree they began to dance a little more energetically. John could see Mrs Hudson looking a little wistfully at the dancing couple and decided that he would ask her to dance; before he could even make a move though Lestrade walked over to her and clearly asked her to dance. John smiled as he watched the first few tentative bars before it was clear that each of them realised that the other could dance at which point it became more like something out of Strictly Come Dancing as they jived their way through the number. By the end of the second verse practically everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to watch the two of them. Lestrade finished up the dance with a deep ‘dip’ and Mrs Hudson beamed up at him as the rest of the party applauded. Lestrade pulled her up, gestured to the mistletoe above them and kissed her.

 

Looking around the room at about quarter past eleven John was amazed really how well the party was going. Over by the television Sherlock was involved in an insanely competitive game of Wii Hoola Hoop with Sarah one which John was secretly of the opinion that Sarah didn’t have a hope of winning, Sherlock had some moves, that was for certain. Lestrade had found himself a new dance partner and whilst Mycroft had something of a ‘rabbit in the headlamps’ thing going on he seemed to be enjoying himself. Mike, Anderson, Electra and Sally were playing an intense game of cards sat on the floor using the coffee table, after watching for a while John decided it was probably Texas Hold’em and seriously hoped that it wasn’t strip poker because there was no Earthly way that Mike and Anderson wouldn’t be the first ones to end up in the buff. Happy that everyone was having a good time, John turned to go into the kitchen and get himself a drink but he paused when he could hear quiet, serious voices and without precisely making a decision to eavesdrop he ended up listening.

“Oh, I know dear, mine was just the same, he seemed like such a lovely bloke, quiet and unassuming, but when I found out what he’d done...” said Mrs Hudson, Molly interrupted,

“I mean, I know that being plausible is part of what a psychopath does, but I can’t believe he fooled me, I really can’t. And when Sherlock told me he was gay, I was so angry, but really he was just looking out for me...”

“Yes,” said Mrs Hudson warmly, “he’s like that, he’ll do anything to help a friend, I’d never have been rid of Den without Sherlock, I think I’d have had to shoot him myself without Sherlock...”

“I know,” Molly enthused, “I knew he’d catch him in the end and it was such a relief...”

“And now you’ve got that lovely doctor, dear! He seems very nice,” John could hear the smile and the fondness in Molly’s reply,

“Oh, Mike’s wonderful, he was so sweet and understanding at first, and now I just can’t imagine being without him,”

“Yes, it’s funny how things work out isn’t it.”

John decided enough was enough and went into the kitchen,

“Excuse me ladies, can I get to the fridge?”

“Of course you can, John,” Molly said, “This is an excellent party, John, I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed one as much, thank you.”

“Thank you for coming, I’m glad to see you looking so much happier. You and Mike are serious, I gather?” Molly blushed prettily,

“Yes, I think so!”

 

Things were getting just a little bit rowdy now. Sarah was trying to get Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock, Sally, Anderson, Mike, Molly, Electra and John to try a thing called ‘Empress Eugenie’s Circle’. So far it had involved organising themselves into a circle where each person was between two people of roughly the same height and build,

“Right,” Sarah said, “everybody turn to the right, so that you’re like a circular conga line, No, Mike the other left! Right that’s good. What you’re going to do now is to sit down on the lap of the person behind you...” Sarah was interrupted by cries of “that won’t work” and “sit on his/her knee”. Effortlessly Sarah raised her voice over the disagreement,

“1700 people once did this in New Zealand...”

“Yeah, but they’re all hobbits!” called Lestrade,

“... and they were all perfectly fine. The trick is to concentrate on guiding the person in front of you so that they can sit comfortably on your knees and rely on the person behind you to do the same. We’ll go on the count of three ...”

“The trouble is,” came Mrs Hudson’s voice from where she was stood watching, “that you can only get people to try this sort of thing when they’re too drunk to do it well...”

“... one, two, three!”

Surprisingly it worked, there were a few wobbles here and there, Anderson didn’t quite trust Sherlock to guide him and was looking over his shoulder rather than concentrating on guiding Electra, but her cat like reflexes were enough to deal with it,

“Excellent!” beamed Sarah, “Now I’ll just leave you to work out how to get up...” and she ran into the kitchen giggling hysterically. Mycroft took charge and the only person who ended up on the floor was Anderson, who again couldn’t quite bring himself to trust Sherlock.

 

People began to drift away about one o’clock, Mycroft, Lestrade and Electra were the last to leave and if John didn’t know better he’d think that Mycroft was a little the worse for wear, he was certainly much more loquacious than usual. It also occurred to John that he and Lestrade seemed to be sharing a number of lingering looks, when he pictured what Sherlock would make of Mycroft taking ‘his DI’ it was all he could do to keep the grin off his face.

Finally, everyone had gone and it was just him and Sherlock.

“So, did you have a good time?” John asked.

“Yes, it was surprisingly interesting. I managed to kiss every person attending the party, in normal circumstances more than half of them would have slapped my face. It’s like mistletoe is somehow magic...” he mused.

“You didn’t kiss everyone,” Sherlock looked up at him, eyes narrowed and calculating,

“No I didn’t, did I?”

“Come here, then, can’t have you missing a data point, can we?”

“You come here, I’m the one stood underneath the mistletoe!” The two of them shared a completely non-platonic kiss and John was surprised when as they broke apart Sherlock pulled a notebook out of his pocket and scribbled a couple of notes. He turned back and forth a couple of pages before declaring, “Yes, it’s scientifically proved, you’re the best kisser!”


End file.
